2018 Valentine's Challenge Story for Perscribo
by GalaxieGurl
Summary: Perscribo asked for shirtless Booth, Booth and Brennan already in a relationship (doesn't matter married or not) and a happy ending. Her uniquely creative stories have given me much reading enjoyment, and it is a pleasure to return the favor. I hope this story brings a smile to her Valentine's Day. I mean who doesn't enjoy a shirtless Seeley Booth?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 The Shirtless in the Shootout

As he turned off the invigorating hot water, Booth reached for one of the towels hung over the shower door and wrapped it around his hips; then grabbed the other and swiped it across his shoulders and chest, before turbanning his head in the thick terrycloth. Stepping out of the shower enclosure onto the Southern Living bath mat he'd bought Brennan for Christmas, the new Supervisory Special Agent wiggled his toes in the long loops of its lush hydrocotton Teromet pile.

While he had once cringed at the hefty prices his wife paid for towels, Booth had come to appreciate this touch of pampering in their busy lives. The couple worked long hours and were kept hopping with their children's activities. Brief moments of comfort and bliss like this soothed the stress they both experienced.

With swift sure strokes of his razor, Booth cleared the methol foam from his face and checked for stragglers in the mirror. He rubbed his palms across his cheeks to insure a close, clean shave, then brushed his teeth quickly. Because his normal afternoon meeting with Director Cannon had been rescheduled for 11 am, he had set his alarm clock an hour early the previous night, and needed to 'get a move on' as Pops would have said.

Suddenly the bathroom door popped open and an auburn head appeared. Brennan took one look at her husband, and stepped toward him. Pulling him into a snug embrace, she purred,

"You remind me of Abu'l-Fath Jalal-ud-din Muhammad Akbar!"

"I take it that's a good thing?" Booth inquired, with a smile.

"Ah, yes, Booth, he was the third Mughal emperor, an accomplished warrior, an able general, and a powerful, astute, tolerant ruler. He gave his wives religious freedom to remain Hindu if they wished, and prohibited sati. His unifying legacy of pluralism had a strong influence still felt in the modern Indian republic."

Booth grinned into her fragrant hair. He loved it when his Bones went all 'scholarly' on him.

"I love it when you are shirtless! Your acromia and torso musculature are perfect, Booth!"

"Torso musculature? That's not a very scholarly description of anatomy from the world's foremost forensic anthropologist, Bones."

"Hush, Booth! I wanna kiss you right now….."

Brennan pivoted, pushing him backward toward their bed.

"Whoa there, my love! Cannon pushed up our meeting before lunch. I've gotta get to the office, Bones!"

"Well, then, we'll just have to make this a quickie, won't we?" she replied saucily.

Twenty minutes later, the couple were dressed for their day. Brennan headed to get the kids dressed while Booth brought her a mug of kopi luwak coffee. (He stuck to Folgers, same as Pops and Grams. No civet would ever digest coffee beans destined for Seeley Booth's stomach!) Brennan straightened his tie as he kissed her goodbye.

"Remember the Valentine's Day you borrowed the tommy guns for me?" Booth murmured in her ear.

"The Bureau is in the process of upgrading Hogan's Alley and Murphy Sanchez wants me to try it out. They've added some features, but he wants my input on the situational scenario modification program they're installing. It allows the instructors to modify our virtual tactical environment at will during training sessions and recertification testing. He wants to test its capabilities. I thought you might enjoy evaluating the revised feedback capture methodology with me."

He felt her smile widen against his cheek. Like Sweets, Brennan had taken a tactical performance test when she received her concealed carry permit, but it had been awhile. She had relished the experience, but it was rare for non-agents to be allowed on Hogan's Alley.

"That would be an excellent way to spend Valentine's evening, Booth."

"I spoke to Cam and Isaiah is wanting to earn some money for summer soccer camp. He's available to babysit the kids tonight if you approve."

"Good idea, Booth. I've noticed that he's responsible and considerate with his brothers. I believe Isaiah would do a fine job minding Christine and Hank this evening. After all, he watched over Tyler and Jordan in foster care before Cam and Arastoo adopted them. Hank will love having a guy sitter too."

"Ok then, Bones, we're set. I'll pick up the kids tonight and see you at home. I really gotta get a move on! Love ya!"

After one more kiss, he was out the front door.

Hank grinned at Brennan from the kitchen bar. " 'Saiah's gonna stay with us, Momma? I like him!"

"Yes, honey, finish your oatmeal, Christine's going to be late for school if we don't leave in ten minutes."

Christine came out of the bathroom, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"You still have toothpaste on your lip, Little Girl," Brennan told her. "Grab your backpack and let's head out to the car."

Bbbbbbbbbbbb

Booth picked up his children an hour earlier than usual. He drove to the Fallsgrove Village Center where he helped Christine pick out a 5" x 7" picture frame at Art and Framing Depot. The previous Saturday the trio had secretly gone to Moto Photo for a picture session. Then Hank chose a puppy gift card at Barnes and Noble. Even at age four, the little boy knew how his mother's eyes always sparkled at the chance to select a new book.

Once they arrived home, Booth helped his daughter disassemble the picture frame to insert their photograph. He smiled at her intense look of concentration, identical to her mother's, as she chose two gift bags from the hall closet.

"Hank can use the red one, and I'll use the pink one, Daddy. We made cards in class today."

"Me, too! Me, too!" crowed Hank, pulling a rumpled piece of folded construction paper from his backpack. Four squiggly letters adorned the crayon-colored heart inside.

Christine carefully tucked tissue paper into the bags to conceal their gifts, and carried them to the coffee table.

"You think Mommy will be pleased?" she asked.

"Your mom would love it even if you just tied a bow around your waist and gave her a hug for Valentine's Day, Monkey!" Booth answered.

The front door opened as Brennan came in. Spotting the gift bags, she quickly plastered a look of utter surprise across her face.

"Look, Momma, look!" Hank said proudly. He reached into his bag and pulled out the gift card.

"Hank, you're _supposed_ to let Mommy open her gifts!" Christine chided him.

"Honey, I don't mind," Brennan told her, kissing Hank's tousled brown head. "Thank you, Little Man! I will enjoy buying a new book to read!"

"Here, Mom," Christine held out her bag as Brennan took a seat on the couch. She peered carefully into the pink sack, and withdrew the tissue-protected frame.

"What a wonderful picture of you three!" she smiled with delight. "This is a perfect Valentine's gift, Christine; I need a new picture for my desk at the lab! Thank you!"

Christine hugged her mother with great satisfaction as her parents shared a smile.

"Isaiah will be here soon. Go change into your play clothes. I brought Neopolitan pizza from Pizza CS," Brennan told her children.

"Yay! Pizza!" Hank told Christine.

" _I know_ , Hank! I have eyes."

"Honey, be nice; he's just excited," Booth said.

"Yeah, and he's a doofus."

"So were you at four, Monkey!"

A knock at the door signaled Isaiah's arrival. Hugs and kisses were exchanged all around, and the parents left for the evening. Isaiah stood on the front porch with Hank hanging from his arm. Christine waved goodbye, and Booth watched to make sure they went back in the house before driving down the street.

"Ready for some shooting, Mrs. Booth?"

"Booth, I daresay I will top your score!"

"Them are fightin' words, Wild Card Wanda!"

"You can bet on it, Big River Buck!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 Shedding His Shirt for a Good Cause

Booth awakened early Saturday morning after Valentine's Day with an invigorating burst of energy, and slid carefully out of bed to avoid waking his wife. He flexed his feet against the memory foam bath mat Brennan had placed on his side. Despite it looking a little odd, he loved her brilliant inspiration the first time he stood on it. Its deep cushioning cradled his injured feet as they adjusted to bearing his weight for the coming day.

Heading downstairs, he started the coffee and flipped on the wall-mounted TV monitor to watch while his java brewed. The ZNN forecaster was describing the unseasonably warm weather DC would be enjoying for the coming week. Booth smiled to himself as he whipped up a bowl of Grams' blueberry pancake batter.

This warm spell was a perfect chance to get a head start on expanding Brennan's vegetable patch. She's mentioned wanting to add a row of sweet corn to the zucchini, tomatoes, and other healthy plants she already cultivated in their back yard.

A small hand tugged at Booth's faded Foreigner t-shirt.

"Can I have some pancakes, Daddy?"

Booth grinned down at Hank. "Sure, Tiger! Then you and I are gonna head to the hardware store and surprise your mom."

He plated two pancakes, cut them into large squares and placed them on the counter as Hank crawled up on the stool. His barefoot son had walked into the kitchen so quietly, Booth mused that the kid could be an Army Scout years from now. _Bones wouldn't like that one bit_ , he thought.

He watched as Hank drowned his pancakes in syrup and signed with satisfaction at the first bite.

"You sure make great pancakes, Daddy!"

"Thank, kiddo."

Booth placed a call to Rockville Equipment Rentals and reserved a tiller for the morning.

"Go get dressed quietly, Hank, so you don't wake your mom or Christine. We'll go pick up this tiller and get started."

Hank loved helping his father with big-guy chores. He gulped down the last swallow of milk, put his dishes in the sink, and went to his room. Booth filled the dishwasher and his coffee mug, and slipped down to the man cave. He kept extra jeans, t-shirts, and jogging clothes there for workouts and yard work. As he dressed, he remembered last night….

It had been thrilling to watch Brennan work her way through Hogan's Alley. She moved steathily like a cat on the balls of her feet, alert to each new challenge the shooting course held. Cardboard bad guys alternated with innocent citizens pivoting into view, amid flashing lights, blaring sirens, and gusts of wind. His perceptively sharp-eyed wife hadn't missed any of the cues. Villains were no match for Temperance Brennan's marksmanship and reflexes.

Booth's turn through the course had come after Brennan finished. He noticed several variations the range master made, altering the target presentations from what she had encountered. _This new scenario modification protocol is a definite upgrade; the tester can switch elements effortlessly,_ he thought as he took his last shot.

"I wish all our agents handled this test as expertly as you, Dr. Brennan. You two did very well, and I'd like to sit down and hear your reactions and comments. Why'nt you grab some coffee while I reset the tactical scenario, Agent Booth. I'll meet you in the small conference room down the hall."

Booth slipped his hand into its accustomed spot at the small of Brennan's back as they left the range.

"I think I'll forego FBI coffee, Booth," Brennan grimaced.

"Aw, Bones, get at least half a cup and try it. Sanchez convinced Director Cannon to stock a better brew down here; as a reward after agents finish their certification tests. He'll be disappointed if you don't at least pretend it's improved."

She acquiesced, and took a tentative sip.

"Hmmm, this is much better; not kopi luwak, mind you, but not bad," she admitted.

"I have to agree; I don't even have to fake liking it. Murphy did good!" Booth agreed as they took seats at the small conference table.

A sudden cry caught their attention, and the pair bolted down the hall and back into the testing room. Agent Sanchez was bent over, clutching his hand.

"Murph, what happened?" Booth asked.

"One of the criminal figures jammed, and I was freeing it, but I cut my hand. Man, this hurts," his colleague gasped.

"Let me examine it, Agent Sanchez," Brennan spoke up.

She took the man's arm as Booth flipped on the overhead lights. The range master's hand was gashed and bleeding profusely. Booth shed his unbuttoned flannel shirt, yanked off his t-shirt and handed it to Brennan. She wrapped the cut snugly to staunch the flow, elevated his hand above his heart, and they helped Sanchez down the hall toward an elevator. The FBI maintained an onsite medical clinic on the eighth floor for minor injuries, staffed by an expert physician's assistant.

Exiting the elevator car, Booth supported Murphy as Brennan walked ahead.

"Dr. Brennan, what brings you here-? Agent Sanchez, what happened?"

John Tilllingham had been a medic in Iraq. He unwrapped Booth's t-shirt to evaluate the gash. The muscle of Murphy's hand had been cut between his thumb and index finger. The PA grabbed a thick sterile gauze pad and pressed it to the gash.

"Please hold pressure on this while I get a suture tray, Dr. Brennan."

Twenty minutes later, after retrieving another t-shirt from his locker, ignoring his co-worker's objections that he was inconveniencing the couple, Booth drove Agent Sanchez's car to his house in Gaithersburg while Brennan followed in her Prius. On the way, she called his wife to alert her they were coming, glad once again she had opted for Toyota's hands-free calling feature. Tillingham had expertly stitched and bandaged the range master's injury and explained the follow-up care it required.

Once Murphy Sanchez was safely home, Booth and Brennan headed for his wife's grateful suggestion for dinner. Because of his cut, they promised to email Sanchez their evaluation of Hogan's Alley over the weekend.  
Gemelli's Italian Market offered a tantalizing menu of hearty sandwiches, soups, and salads. Booth ordered a hot Polpette marinara meatball sub and Brennan decided on a hearty Vegano salad of grilled eggplant and roasted peppers. They shared a Caprese Platter of cheese, olives, and balsamic-glazed tomatoes.

During their meal, Brennan leaned over and murmured to her husband how much she appreciated him sacrificing his t-shirt for Agent Sanchez's injury. One glance into her fathomless blue eyes told Booth she wasn't referring merely to how it had stopped the bleeding. He felt his jeans tighten and chewed more vigorously on the delicious meatballs.

"Bones, let's postpone that jazz club until another time," he suggested, flashing his killer smile at his wife.

"My thoughts exactly," she purred quietly.

Isaiah was sorry about the firing range mishap, but happy with his extra earnings. He high-fived Hank, and swung Christine in a circle before thanking Booth for the generous tip. He had called Cam to let her know he'd be late for dinner, but declared he was starving and wasted no time heading out the door for home.

Brennan was pleased and impressed that the teenager had cleaned up the kitchen and taken the initiative to give Hank his bath while Christine wrote her spelling sentences.

Booth read his son three stories while their daughter hopped in the tub. Once her parents had listened to her read a few pages of Little House on the Prairie and completed the chapter, they tucked her in bed as well. Two drinks and extra hugs later, the children were dozing off.

Leaving the bedroom doors ajar, Booth headed downstairs for his nightly security check. When he re-entered the master bedroom, he spotted his Valentine dressed in her favorite silver nightgown. Needless to say, the filmy garment had landed on the carpeted floor next to Booth's boxers shortly thereafter….


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 Another Shirt Shed in Rescue

Hank had finished dressing and brushed his teeth. Coming downstairs, he didn't see his father in the kitchen, so he entered the living room, grabbed the remote, flipped on the television, made sure to lower its volume, and curled up on the couch with his Great-Grams' afghan to watch cartoons. Ten minutes later, Booth still hadn't appeared. Hank decided to wait some more, since he'd been cautioned not to awaken his mother. Finally, as the Power Rangers episode was ending, he heard footsteps on the stairway.

"Daddy?"

"What, Tiger?"

"You sure took a long time getting dressed!"

Booth chuckled. "I couldn't find my socks in the dark; didn't wanna wake your mom!" he told his son. _Whoa-boy, too much daydreaming about last night with Bones. It's a good thing this kid can't mind read!_

"You ready? Grab your jacket just in case. It's pretty warm outside, but the weather could change. Gotta be prepared, right?"

"Yup, Daddy. Tiger Cubs always are!" Hank agreed happily.

The Booth men drove to Rockville Rentals, procured the tiller, and loaded it into the SUV. On the way back home, they stopped at Brennan's favorite bakery and picked up croissants and bagels with two cups of cinnamon and chive cream cheese. Once Booth unlocked the front door, Hank carried the bag of pastries carefully into the house and set it on the kitchen counter. Father and son pushed the tiller across the driveway to the backyard, Hank's arms barely reaching the handle, Booth walking awkwardly behind him like Brennan when their son hung from the shopping cart in front of her.

"Okay, Hank, let me push it now that we've reached the grass. It would be a big help if you'd open the gate for me, please," Booth directed his son.

"Sure, Daddy."

Hank's tongue popped out as he concentrated on working the latch, just like his mom and Christine. Once he'd opened, he grinned back at his father, pleased as punch with himself.

Booth patted him on the shoulder _with an open palm,_ he thought with a nod to Zach.

"Good job!"

After removing a section of the picket fence that kept their pets out of the garden, Booth lifted the tiller into place along a strip of grass adjacent to the already cultivated dirt. _Sorry, Hodgins; after all, dirt is dirt,_ he smirked silently.

"Hank, go get your rake from the garage and you can help me," Booth suggested.

Hank tiptoed to reach the wall-mounted opener, entered the 4-digit code, waited for the garage door to rise, and trotted in to grab his small rake, hoe, and trowel.

"Leave the trowel, Bub; it's too early to plant any seeds."

Hank returned with the two garden tools, one in each hand, and looked at his father expectantly.

"Okay, put on these goggles like mine, and you stay in that corner, so the dirt won't get in your hair. When I turn the tiller on, some dirt clods or grass clumps are likely to get tossed up."

"Dr. Hodgins says it's _soil_ , Daddy."

"Yah, yah, you're turning squinty on me, kid, just like your mom and her lab buddies," Booth retorted with a grin.

"Now stand back and stay clear of this thing!"

Booth jerked the starter cord and the little motor flared to life. He buried the tiller's tines into the strip of sod and started forward. Surprised by the noise, standing stock still, Hank watched in fascination as the machine whirred and buzzed, ripping and shredding the dormant thatch and tangle of roots into bits of mulch. Reaching the end of the row, his dad carefully pivoted and retraced his tracks back down the strip of sod. Then he killed the engine with the push of a button, and turned to survey his work.

"One more pass ought to do it, Hank-o. We'll be finished before you know it, and I'll take you to the park to lob the football between us!"

"Yay!"

Adjusting the tiller's position, he pulled the starter cord again. The machine coughed and hesitated. A large knot of earth and roots was caught between the tiller blades. Booth leaned over to pull it loose, and gasped. His index finger spurted blood.

Hank rushed over, tore off his goggles, and yanked off his shirt.

"Here, Daddy!" he said, handing Booth the gray Batman t-shirt. "I help like you!"

The previous night, Hank and Christine had wanted to know why their parents were delayed stopping by to tuck them in, and ended up staying home. They also noticed that Booth black t-shirt was now gray. Brennan explained carefully that one of Daddy's co-workers had cut his hand, and their father had lent his t-shirt as a bandage. Since both children had endured stitched-up lacerations in the past and seriously disliked the unpleasant experiences, she omitted the more graphic details.

Booth took the small shirt, wound it around his finger, and smiled at his son.

"Thank you, Hank. You're a real helper."

"Does it hurt, Daddy?"

"Oh, not too badly, but I need to go in the house and get a bandage. Can you open the back door for me, please?"

Hank scampered up the patio steps, and grasped the door knob.

"Daddy, it's locked!"

"Reach in my pocket and get the key….Nope, you know what? Let's just go around front, and ring the doorbell. Your mom should be awake by now. And if she isn't, she'll need to be. I'm gonna need some help with bandaging this cut."

"I can help you!" Hank declared. "You can use one of my Superman band-aids!"

By this time, the pair had reached the front porch, and Hank pressed the doorbell. Brennan looked up from her journal, and opened the door.

"What happened?"

"Daddy got cutted, Mommy!"

Brennan didn't even stop to correct her son's grammar, but reached for Booth's hand.

"Let me see, Booth," she requested.

Leading him to the kitchen, she gently backed him onto a stool, opened the cabinet and took out her first aid kit. Unwinding the t-shirt, she examined the cut, replaced the cloth and pressed down, then looked up at her husband.

"I don't believe you need stitches; Steri-strips ought to be sufficient. We'll give it an hour and if the bleeding hasn't stopped, we can go to Dr. Frederick's office. His PA is on call for urgent care this afternoon."

After covering the Steri-strips with a Batman band-aid while Hank watched closely, since the Superman strips were gone, Brennan ran cold water in the laundry room sink and put Hank's t-shirt in to soak with a generous squirt of Gonzo on the stain.

"It was very sweet of you to give Daddy your favorite shirt for his hand, Hank. You're a very considerate son," she told her little boy who beamed with pride. Returning to the kitchen to fix Booth a cup of coffee, she glanced at his torso.

"Oh, Booth, there is blood on your Flyers t-shirt. If you take it off, I'll soak it with Hank's."

The agent pulled the shirt over his head, careful not to dislodge the bandage on his finger, and handed it to his wife. She leaned up and kissed him, then whispered in his ear.

"I'm sorry you got hurt, but seeing you shirtless makes me think perhaps we could call Isaiah to take the kids to the park later this afternoon. I'm sure he'd be glad for the extra money, and I can think of some ways I can help you recuperate!"

"Good idea for later, Bones, but first, I've got to finish with this tiller and get it returned to Rockville Rentals before my 4 hours is up. I don't want to pay extra to keep it longer!"

" **I** will finish the tilling, and **you** may supervise, Booth. Keep your finger elevated, bring your coffee out and sit on the porch. If you'd been wearing work gloves, that cut wouldn't have happened," she scolded gently, pulling her own skull-print garden gloves from a drawer by the back door and putting them on.

"I don't want to hear any guff, Booth! I'm perfectly capable of operating a tiller! You've finished one pass, all you need is another. I'm not helpless; I tilled a garden during grad school long before I met you!"

Grumbling, Booth followed her outside. Hank perched on his lap, and Christine picked up her brother's rake and hoe, carrying them back to the garage.

"Thanks, Monkey, that's very helpful," Booth said.

Suddenly, Brennan stopped, thought, pressed the tiller's kill switch, and turned to look at her boys with a frown.

"Hank Booth, go in the house, get a shirt from the laundry room, and stop running around bare-chested. It's warmer than usual out here, but you don't need to look like Tarzan or risk catching a cold. There's a clean load of laundry in the dryer. While you're in there, you can fold the socks."

"Momma!" Hank whined. "I wanna watch!"

"Okay, fine, you can do that chore later. But get dressed, please!"

bbbbbbbbbbbbbb

Later that afternoon, once the tiller was returned, a delayed lunch was consumed, and Isaiah arrived, the Booth children headed happily to the park. Their parents retired to their master bedroom, where Brennan expertly distracted Booth from his laceration, all the while mindful of its condition.

Kissing her soundly, he griped, "I can't reciprocate with this dang cut, Bones!"

"Kindly lie still or you'll trigger more bleeding and then we'll have to postpone these pleasantries while you get sutured!"

She gave him a wicked smile. "You know, I have sutured people when necessary on dig expeditions in the past. I passed EMT certification in 2002. I could stitch your finger for you….."

"Oh, no, that's not necessary, Bones. I'll just stick this finger back up in the air!" Booth assured her.

"You may have to go shirtless more often, Booth. I find it very alluring."

"Yeah, and we'll have Hank running around sick, trying to imitate me. He copies everything I do, just like Parker used to!"

"You have a point. Now hush, and let me get back to business! The kids will be back in an hour!"

"Sound good to me, Dr. Brennan; you have the perfect healing touch," he replied happily as she expertly massaged his back and gradually moved further down…..


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 Flinging Fanwear for the Home Team

Booth jumped up from his chair, ripped his Eagles jersey off, flung it on the floor, grabbed Brennan and swung her around as easily as he might have done with Christine, whooping and hollering. He was beyond excited. She looked at him in astonishment and rolled her eyes.

"They did it, Bones! We won! I knew we could! Fly, Eagles, fly!"

Christine looked up at her father. "The men in dark green won, right, Daddy? Is that why you are excited?"

He put Brennan down and picked up his daughter, swinging her around too.

"Yes, Monkey, they won! They just kept trying and trying, not giving up, and it paid off. Daddy is excited because Philadelphia is where I grew up. That's where Pops and Grams lived too. I bet Pops and she are dancin' in Heaven!"

Not to be outdone, Hank demanded his father's attention. "Up, Daddy, up! Yay!"

Booth set Christine down gently, and turned to his son. Bending, he swung the boy up into his arms and gave him a slight toss into the air, as Pops had once done to delight him.

Hank squealed with glee, as Brennan glared at Booth.

"That maneuver is rather ill-advised; it poses a risk to children's spines, especially if they are dropped!"

Booth put Hank down and looked at his wife in exasperation. He had stooped to retrieve his shirt, but now frustrated, he clenched it, balled up in his fist.

"I've never dropped a child of mine yet, and I never will, Bones! Not Parker, not Christine, not Hank! You never saw me play football or basketball in high school, but I can guarantee you I am sure-handed. I didn't win a scholarship to Penn by dropping the ball, and I'll never drop my kids either!"

"I certainly hope not!" she sniffed indignantly. "I'm pleased your team won, but a little moderation in your celebration would be wise."

Aubrey, Jessica, Hodgins, Angela, Cam, Arastoo, Caroline, Wendell, Andie, Charlie and Prentice Burns watched the disagreement in silence. The FBI and Jeffersonian friends had gathered at Angela's and Hodgins' spacious home for a Super Bowl get-together. After sharing a hearty spread of chips, dips, veggies, chili, and soup, they had gone down to the impressive media room, made themselves comfortable in the plush theater seating, and settled in to watch Super Bowl LII.

Booth's and Brennan's partnership had always been spirited, whether at work, friendship, or romance. Their differences of opinion were no different. Both possessed strong personalities, and an occasional clash was inevitable.

Booth acquiesced first. "Sorry for my outburst, everyone. I didn't mean to get so carried away, but Philly hasn't won a National Championship since 1960! And they've never had a shot at the Super Bowl!"

Cam spoke up. "I don't blame you for being exuberant. My dad and grandfather saw them defeat Vince Lombardi's Green Bay Packers that year, and they were the only team ever to do so, but it was a long time ago. If one of my New York teams pulled off a victory like this one tonight, I'd be yelling too! I'm rather pleased that the underdogs won this time; not that the Patriots didn't play their hearts out, but it's nice to see the win go to a team who's tried for so long."

Arastoo looked at her in surprise. He rarely saw Cam excited about sports. Their three sons were nodding vigorously. "What Mom said!"

Caroline agreed. "When my Saints beat the Indy Colts in Super Bowl XVIV, you coulda heard my hollerin' in DC clear from N'awlins, Cher!"

Brennan winced slightly, then addressed the group. "Perhaps I was too hasty in chiding Booth for his show of enthusiasm. Hank seems none the worse for being airborne for a moment, so I apologize for making a scene."

"It's okay, Bones. One of the reasons I love you is that you're always looking out for our children," Booth assured her. "Since it's past Hank the Tank's bedtime, we'd better be getting these monkeys home, I think," he said, giving Brennan one of his irresistible smiles and puppy dog eyes as he rather sheepishly pulled his Eagles shirt back on.

She made a face at him, and stooped to pick up their son, whose mouth opened into a huge yawn as he put his head on her shoulder. "Christine, honey, go get your backpack from Michael Vincent's room and be sure you have all your colored pencils picked up, please."

The little girl scampered down the hall, followed by Angela's and Hodgin's son, her best buddy. "I'll help you, Chrissy," he said gallantly.

"Bren, I'll pack up your food and bring it to the lab tomorrow," Angela said.

"Thanks, Ange, just keep the chili for your dinner tomorrow night. You were kind enough to host this crowd; you deserve a break from cooking. Booth actually put together the chili from his Grams' recipe, since he didn't want me bringing my tofu quinoa barley version. Thanks for having us; it was an enjoyable day."

Booth had followed Christine and Michael Vincent, and came downstairs carrying the little girl. "This Monkey is as tired as Hank, Bones. Since they had baths last night for church this morning, I think we can skip that for tonight and just pop these little people straight into beddy-bye."

Jessica rubbed her belly and leaned against Aubrey. "Let's go before I fall asleep, Superman. Carrying me upstairs would be a real workout for you."

"Nonsense, Jess, I can carry you anytime, anywhere," Aubrey declared, kissing her cheek. The rest of the group gathered their dishes, thanked their hosts and headed to the front closet where Angela was sorting out coats, hats, and scarves for everyone.

"Hey, Studly, you can rip off your jersey anytime you like," she whispered handing Booth his down jacket. Fortunately, he'd set Christine down and Brennan was helping her into her coat and mittens.

"Angela!" Booth sputtered. "Thanks for a great evening and the superb feast!"

"I didn't do it all, everyone brought something," she retorted with a smile.

"Yeah, but nobody makes Thai food as well as you, Ange. Hodgins is a lucky man. G'nite all. See you guys tomorrow. The alarm is gonna ring way too early for me!"

Bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb

Once they arrived home, teeth brushing and hand washing for two drowsy little people took only a short time, and stories were dispensed with as the children dozed off as soon as their heads hit the pillows. Booth and Brennan tucked them both in with kisses on foreheads, and left the bedroom doors ajar. She headed to their ensuite bathroom while he security-checked the house.

As he came back upstairs, Booth glimpsed his wife putting a fleece lined satin gown over her head, and tiptoed through the bedroom door. He took her in his arms, pulled the nightwear down and kissed her soundly. She turned in his embrace and purred in his ear, "I had to make a fuss about Hank earlier, Booth. I couldn't do what I really wanted to."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because ravaging your bare chest in front of our friends would've been socially inappropriate," she answered slyly. "You know the sight of your bare acromia and upper musculature always turn me on."

"Ah, right. Well, now that we're home and the kids are asleep, I believe you're free to ravage away, Bones," he grinned at her. "Lemme just turn out this light, and you can do anything you want, Dr. Brennan! I'm free for the rest of the night…."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 No Shirt in His Sleep

Brennan opened one eye and surveyed her situation as she did every morning. Most days now it was in appreciation of how wonderful her life was, but in earlier years, she had acquired this habit out of self-preservation; during foster care, on anthropology digs in sketchy places, during the interminable three days she'd been held captive by Latin American guerillas wishing to stop her investigation of a mass grave….

This morning, she luxuriated in the peaceful quiet and soft rose-tinged gray of her early morning bedroom. Stretched out next to her snoring relentlessly was Booth; the reason for her optimism and security. He had broken through her self-imposed black and white, logical rational view of the world; the mechanism by which she'd survived from age fifteen to thirty. And despite his foibles, his steadfast integrity and rock solid friendship had disproved her theory that love was merely a chemical reaction.

As a result of relinquishing her resolute iron-tight control over circumstances, she'd fallen in love with the best man ever to walk the earth. And gained a delectably enjoyable and virtually effortless hobby: awakening early before her spouse, when his continuing slumber allowed her to gaze upon and appreciate his wonderful physique. As wise caring parents, they both kept night clothes within easy reach for times when their children had nightmares or needed a drink and came knocking at their door at 3 am.

But both partners enjoyed the freedom of sleeping in the buff and Booth's current shirtless condition gave her a delicious view of his impressively-muscled chest. She knew his firm curves so well that she didn't need to touch him to enumerate each beloved ripple of pectorals and abdominals. Just as she knew the feel of his bones, she had his skin and torso memorized.

She stretched carefully to avoid waking him, and relished the landscape of alpha male warrior sleeping beside her. Whether they had 30, or 40, or 50 years together, she knew she would love him forever. Her aetheism didn't negate a romance, a friendship, a partnership that would extend into eternity.


End file.
